Harry came home from Sunday school and asked his mother, “Do people really come from dust?” “In a way said,” said his mother. “And do they go back to dust?” “Yes, in a way.” She replied. “Well, mother, I looked under my bed, and somebody’s either coming or going.”
Three rather deaf friends meet on the street; “Windy, isn’t it? Said one. “No, it’s Thursday,” said the second. “So am I,” said the third. “Let’s go and have a beer.”